


Love Me Not

by Dearest_Solitude



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearest_Solitude/pseuds/Dearest_Solitude
Summary: For Violet Baudelaire, there is no such thing as good luck.





	Love Me Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eternallost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/gifts).



> “I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but me.”  
> \- Leigh Bardugo
> 
> Secret Santa gift for Eternallost! You said you liked yandere, so I hope you enjoy this too!

Violet Baudelaire was going crazy.

“I saw someone out there,” She whispered, shaking her brother gently but insistently awake. “Klaus, someone is outside!”

Yawning widely, he sat up and stretched. “Violet, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I saw someone this time. I’m sure of it!” Glancing out the window, she tapped her finger nervously against the headboard, searching for another glimpse of what she was so sure she’d seen.

It was dark, but the full moon illuminated a sky full of rolling clouds. Wind and rain pounded against the creaking house, which swayed dangerously. Over the past six months, they had become accustomed to it though. As frightening as it was, the house hadn’t fallen yet. Still, the rocky outcropping on which it was so precariously balanced was not a safe place to be, not by a long shot. It was slippery when wet, and as the highest point around, it had nothing to protect it from the weather.

If the house, which was built and bolted, took such a toll from the gale outside, it seemed near impossible any human would be able to withstand it.

Klaus pointed this out. “Violet, who would be out there at this hour? And why? It’s way too late for business and the weather is to bad for any kind of stroll.”

“I know what I saw,” she insisted.

With a sigh, Klaus got up and softly padded over to the window. Neither of them wanted to wake baby Sunny, who was sleeping soundly in an overly padded crib.

“See Violet? No one is out there.” Klaus said, gesturing to the admittedly empty plateau.

Violet frowned. “I know what I saw,” she repeated.

“Maybe…” Glancing around uncomfortably, Klaus put a hand on his sister's arm “Maybe you should try and get some rest.”

“You think I imagined it.” Disappointment weighed down on her shoulders. “You don’t believe me.”

Klaus had the decency to look guilty. “I just think maybe you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. What we’ve gone through wasn’t- easy. It isn’t easy. But that’s over now. I just think that maybe it would be good for you to relax a little bit. Bad things happened to us, but that doesn’t mean that they will keep happening to us. I know this isn’t perfect, but at least we are together, right? And Aunt Josephine cares for us, in her own way. You don’t have to bare everything on your own anymore.”

Violet swallowed guiltily. Maybe he was right. Things couldn’t always go wrong, all the time.

But she’d been so sure…

“You go back to bed, Klaus. I’m going to go downstairs and check on Aunt Josephine. She seemed really worried about the lock mechanism I made. I want to make sure she isn’t staying up to watch the door again,” Violet told him.

He hesitated, looking her over, and glancing out the window again.  “Just-make sure you come back to sleep yourself, after. You need rest too.”

She nodded, closed the curtain, and headed to the door. He didn’t notice her grab the key from the night table on her way out.

  
  


Cold wind whipped past Violet as she peered across  the dark landscape. She’d pulled a jacket on over her night clothes, but the stinging rain still pelted her face.

“Hello?” The way her voice wobbled made her cringe. No one answered. Klaus was right, she thought, turning back towards the door. Someone would have to be crazy to be out here in this weather.

_What does that say about you, then?_

I should go inside. It’s too cold out. She jiggled the door handle, before remembering it locked automatically, her own design. She had hoped it would help Aunt Josephine sleep better at night. So far, it had been unsuccessful.

Pulling the key out of her pocket, she sighed deeply. The heavy sound almost hid the deep chuckle of someone nearby.

Regret filled her.

 _I should have brought Klaus. I should have woken Aunt Josephine. I should have stayed inside._ A million “should-haves” ran through Violet’s head, but none of them could help her now.

“Hello?” The quiet, quaver of a question was swallowed by the screaming wind.

Once again, there was no answer. This time though, she didn’t wait for one. Spinning around, she shoved the key at the lock with shaking fingers, muttering “come on, come on, _come on_ ,” under her breath, because her invention was working perfectly, they always worked perfectly, but the door was locked and she couldn’t get it open and there was someone out there, there was someone out there in the dark, someone who had to be crazy—who went out in this weather anyways?—and she was locked out here with someone crazy, and the door wouldn’t open and—! There!

The key slid in with a click, and Violet turned the knob just in time to be slammed up against the door from behind, unable to open it. Her breath deserted her chest, leaving her petrified and floundering for air.

“What do we have here?”

Cool fingers dug painfully into the soft skin beneath her collar bones. Hot breath brushed against her ear and Violet dared not move, braced up against the door. His body was flush against hers, big enough to block her from the wind and the rain, yet she still felt cold all over.

“What? Nothing?”Amiable disappointment laced the speaker’s voice.

I’m sorry for ruining your big reveal. I’m just a bit busy trying not to hyperventilate, she wanted to scream. Her mind was racing. This was no good; she couldn’t strike him, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t get inside. What if she screamed? Would anyone hear her? Would anyone come?

And? If they did? What if they got hurt? If anything  happened to them, she would never forgive herself.

“Who are you?”

The grip on her tightened suffocatingly. “We both know you know who I am, Violet.” His tone was threatening, daring her to disagree.

Like an hourglass, the rational fear in her head trickled down into some more instinctual panic in her belly. With a strength she didn’t think she had, Violet pushed against him, wrenching herself free from his grip. Stumbling back, she stood a few feet away from her attacker, her breath coming in quick bursts.

Count Olaf stood between her and the now open door, looking surprised and a little bit amused.

“What do you want?” To be heard over the wind, Violet had to shout. Her key was still clutched in her hand, though she didn’t know how much good it would do her now.

Olaf smiled, and took a lazy step towards her, holding out one hand. An invitation. “My Countess,” was simply what he said.

Fear made her chest constrict, like some cold, skeletal hand around her heart. “I’m not…” She struggled for the words. “I’m not yours. I am not your countess.”

“How sure are you?” He was sneering at her, moonlight glinting on the whites of his eyes.

“Justice Strauss said—” Violet began, but he didn’t let her finish.

“Can a judge make a ruling outside of the courthouse? Without a plaintiff? A jury? A defense?” He was purring, practically. He’d practiced this response.

Violet’s mind raced. She didn’t know much about law, not like her brother did. How much power _did_ a judge hold? “I- don’t know,” she gasped. “I don’t know.”

“Well, we weren’t in a court, and so it wasn’t a real ruling. You signed the paper. That makes you my wife,” Olaf snapped.

Violet felt dizzy. He could be lying to her. What did he know, anyways? But, then again, _she_ couldn’t refute it either. Her whole body was shaking now, and she wasn’t sure it was from the cold. “But when I signed it. I didn’t sign with my right hand, I—”

“Can you prove that?”

He knew that she couldn’t. There had been witnesses, sure,  but no one had been looking for it. No one but Klaus and Olaf.  One would not be a reliable witness, and the other… well, he surely wouldn’t help.

“I’m not going with you!” Desperation clawed at her, and Violet lunged forward, like a cornered animal, reaching for the door.

Olaf laughed—he _laughed_ —and encircled her waist with one arm easily. Violet slashed out at his face, but he caught her wrist, too, squeezing it so hard that she released her grip, crying out in pain and frustration. The brass key fell from her hand, clattering against the decaying wooden stoop, and disappeared between the slats.

“Come on, Orphan. Am I really so bad?” His voice was light and teasing; he knew that he was. But still he gripped her tightly, greedily.

“Let go of me! I am not your wife. I don’t want to be your wife, I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” She shouted stubbornly.

Olaf pulled her close to him, close enough that she knew he could feel the way her heart was beating like a rabbit’s against her rib cage, Looking at her with a tender sort of sympathy, an expression he could only afford because he knew that he had won.

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she repeated softly.

“But you will.”

The words were spoken with such certainty that Violet felt hopelessness fill her up. Did he have some  plan? Some scheme she didn’t know? Something, to make him so sure. It had to be, something, but the way he said it made her feel like he knew her weakness better than she did.

“Or what?” The question, barely a whisper, made Olaf smile in earnest, malicious and exaggerated by the shadows from the moon overhead. He glanced pointedly back at the door, unlocked and vulnerable, and Violet felt a ringing in her ears.

“I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

  
  


The house was exactly as Violet remembered it. Dark and dilapidated, gnarled vines climbed the weather worn siding, criss crossing over broken, boarded up windows. Behind it, the sun was just beginning to light the sky, which was a beautiful mix of pinks and reds.

Olaf got out of the car, and walked around to the passenger door to let Violet out. “M’lady.”

She didn’t look at him as she exited, but he grabbed her hand in his larger one, making him difficult to ignore.

“Home, sweet home,” he sang, leading her up the front steps.

Like a soda pop that’d been shaken too hard, Violet felt panic bubble up inside her and a high, nervous giggle left her mouth.

Olaf gave her a look of concern. “Are—are you alright? Because if you are going to hurl, do it outside.”

Violet wished she did  have to throw up, because maybe if she threw up on him, he’d let go of her and she could run. Justice Strauss’ house was just across the street—she’d helped her before, she could help her now too—But Olaf must have seen the look in her eye because he opened the door quickly and yanked her in after him.

“On second thought,” he said, “Maybe you’re better off inside after all.”

The click-click-click of the locks behind her felt like shackles closing over her wrists, her ankles, her neck. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back. He did not get the luxury of seeing her cry.

“So what now?” Bitterness tainted her voice. “Your plan didn’t work last time. You can’t get your hands on my fortune. I’m not eighteen yet. They know who you are, and they know you are not my guardian. My siblings will notice I am missing, and they will know you took me!

“What is your plan, then? Shall I stay here and clean your house for the next two years? Cook your meals? Mend your clothes? _Play domestic_?” She spat.

Olaf let her rant, watching her in a way that made her think that he probably hadn’t been listening at all. When she’d finally finished, he reached forward and ran a long finger up her neck to the tip of her chin and tilted her head up towards his. “You know, Orphan, a pretty girl like you has much more to offer me than _money_.”

Violet’s face paled, and suddenly she did feel quite like throwing up. Stumbling back away from him, she crossed her arms shakily over her chest. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

They both knew that she did. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to my room.” She headed for the stairs, backing away from him slowly at first, before turning and breaking into a run. Where he had intended for her to stay, she did not know, so she went straight up to the rickety attic room she and her siblings had previously stayed in.

As she fell against the bed, sobbing, she noted that Olaf had not followed her, and considered that perhaps God could be merciful after all.

 

Downstairs the villain himself stared in the direction that his bride had disappeared in, looking vaguely frustrated. He had her back, but he was not satisfied. This wasn’t what he wanted.

Olaf looked different than he had. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes, and he had lost weight. His nail beds were raw and bleeding, and his knuckles were cracked and dry. It was not that he had taken such especially good care of himself to begin with, but at some point, something had changed. He’d gotten _worse_.

It was because of her. He knew it was because of her, but he didn’t know why, and that was the frustrating part. Big blue eyes watched him in his dreams, soft skin against his own, enveloping him, enveloped _by_ him, so close, so _attainable_ , and when he woke up without her he felt broken.

 _It’s because I want her fortune_ , he said at first. Then,

 _It’s because she’s beautiful._ Next,

 _It’s because I am a villain._ Finally,

_It’s because she’s mine._

And “mine” she stayed. He didn’t think of her as a Baudelaire, as a teenager,  as someone in position to inherit an especially large fortune. Simply Violet. Simply “mine.”

Yet he had her here and he did not possess her. Sitting alone at the huge dining room table, he poured himself drink after drink until he could barely remember why he ached. Hours—or was it minutes? He couldn’t think now— had passed and leaving the empty bottle behind, he climbed the stairs one by one up to where he knew she was.

Like a little cat, she was curled up on herself, still shaking but fast asleep. He pulled off his jacket and threw it over her, before sinking down to his knees, hands clasped like someone in prayer. There he wept, her hair catching his tears as he gave her his sorrow.

  
  


When Violet woke, she was alone. She noticed the coat almost right away, and sat straight up, looking for its owner. He was nowhere in sight, and so she sat there, bewildered and still half asleep. Slipping it over her shoulders, she carefully made her way back downstairs. The clothes she had been wearing were still damp, and she appreciated the extra warmth. Why would he try and make her more comfortable though? It was something that she couldn’t wrap her head around.

“Oh good. You’re awake.”

Starting at the voice, Violet turned sharply to face him.

Count Olaf was leaned up against the piano, picking at his nails, long legs crossed casually. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he’d been waiting for her there. “I’m going out on business today. But first I want to give you the rules.”

“Rules? You didn’t give us any rules last time—”

“Well, this is a different time, isn’t it?” He snapped patronizingly.

Violet swallowed. Somehow he always managed to make her feel so stupid. “Fine. Tell me your rules, then.”

A smile. “Yes. The rules. Number ten—”

“Ten? Not one?”

He glared at her. “No, I am starting from the end. Now, Number ten. No crying.”

Violet frowned. “That’s unreasonable.”

“No crying,” he insisted. “It ruins the whole mood of this place. How can I practice my craft with you sniveling  about all the time? No, no crying.”

“Fine. Go on,” Violet said,  humoring him sourly. It wasn’t like she planned on sticking around here long anyways.

“Good. Number nine. Make sure the house is clean. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time.” He glanced up from his fingers, where he was counting, to make sure she was still paying attention.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Number eight. No reading books. I don’t want my wife getting her head full of silly ideas.”

“Excuse me? What will you have me do instead? Drink myself to death? Like you?” She asked incredulously. “I’m reading books. This is ridiculous.”

He seemed to consider this. “Fine. You can read books, but only after you’ve cleaned the house. How’s that?”

“Fine,” she grumbled, tugging at the jacket sleeves. Funny, she hadn’t really imagined he would compromise with her at all.  

“Number seven. No sending letters. I don’t want anymore annoying orphans showing up. You know what happens to pests, don’t you?” Grinning, he made a cutting motion across his neck.

Fearfully, Violet swallowed. Compromise or not, she could not let this man get her guard down.

“Number six. Do not snoop through my things. They are my things, and you’ll only mess them up. Number five, do not open my mail—”

“Isn’t that kind of the same as not snooping through your stuff?” Violet inquired, bouncing slightly in place.

“Stop interrupting me!” He cried, slamming one hand down against the top of the piano, which responded with a discordant clang. “Don’t touch my stuff or my mail! Number five—”

“You already said number five.” Though she knew it was silly, this game felt like some small victory. Making him lose his cool like this was satisfying, even if just a little, and she couldn’t help but smirk.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Olaf said suspiciously, glaring at her.

She blinked, eyes exaggeratedly wide. “What? Me? Of course not. What’s the next rule.”

Eyeing her, he continued. “Number _four._ Do not answer the door. I don’t care who it is. Answer the door and you’ll be in a lot of trouble. Number three. Don’t answer the phone. Also a lot of trouble. No one is calling for any grimy orphans, anyways.”

 _They might,_ she wanted to say, but she held her tongue this time.

“Number two. Don’t talk to the neighbors. They are annoying and I don’t want to have to kill anymore of them.”

She flinched at this and his grin returned.

“Finally, most importantly, you are absolutely not allowed to leave this house.”

This rule should not have come as a surprise to Violet, but she still felt like someone stirred her guts around with a wooden spoon.

“Alright. Don’t break the rules or you’ll be punished. You might think you can get away with it, but I’ll know. I always know. Now, I’m going out with my troupe to work on… some business, and I expect you can find plenty of stuff to clean.”

“What if there is a fire?” She blurted out.

Olaf’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Do I still have to follow rule number one if there is a fire. Or—or not just a fire. What if a burglar breaks in? Or there is a tornado coming?  Do the rules still count in emergencies?” She asked him, hugging his jacket tighter around herself.

He scoffed. “Why would that happen? That’s not going to happen. Don’t be silly.”

“It’s not silly. I want to know if I am allowed to go outside if there is a fire,” She insisted.

“No! You’ll just run off somewhere and I’ll have to kidnap you all over again. There isn’t going to be a fire.” Waving a hand dismissively, Olaf stood up from the piano and walked over towards her, perhaps hoping to intimidate her into submission. “Why are you so worried about fires, anyways?”

Violet glanced down, and her hands squeezed painfully into fists. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before,” she muttered, and Olaf finally understood.

“Oh. I...well, fine. If there is a fire you can go wait outside in the yard for me to come and put it out. Happy?”

“Very,” she said dryly, though, somehow, it did make her feel a little better.

“Good. Now, my troupe is waiting in the car outside. There is cereal in the kitchen, help yourself. If you need anything else,” He grinned, and pulled his jacket off of her. “Don’t.”

Putting it on, he headed for the door. “Bye, wifey!” He called before slamming the door behind him. The locks clicked.

“Asshole.” Hopefully, she thought, he wouldn’t come back.

  
  


There wasn't much for Violet to do. She thought about going to look for a book—she knew where the library was, and how would he know what she did while he was gone, anyways?— but she was scared that if he did find out, he'd hurt her, somehow. So instead she grabbed a rag from the kitchen and began to dust.

Keeping busy was the best thing to do, she decided, but the redundancy of  cleaning barely kept her attention. All she could think about was Sunny and Klaus and even Aunt Josephine and how worried they must be. As badly as she wanted to go back to them, she hoped they didn't try and help her. She wasn’t even sure how to help herself yet and Olaf would surely hurt them if they tried.

Thoughts wandering, Violet began to ponder the Count. The peculiarity with which he was acting was making him something of an mystery to her. Hating him was easy, but while he had kidnapped her away from her home and threatened her with ambiguous punishments, he had been fairly reasonable since she’d arrived.

But then Violet remembered last time, and how very willing he’d been to kill her siblings and shame sprouted in her. He was the enemy and she did not like him, not one bit! He wanted the Baudelaire fortune, and maybe he thought that being nice to her was the only way to do it, but if her being here meant that her siblings weren’t, then so be it.

It was then, cleaning the dusty furniture of her worst enemy's house, that Violet Baudelaire decided she would be their protection and that she would do whatever it took.

That's why, when there was a strong knock at the door, she was inclined to ignore it.

_It's not for me. No one knows I'm here. He said not to answer the door. I don't want any trouble._

Quietly, she crept towards the stairs, when to her surprise the surprise guest called out her name.

“Violet Baudelaire! Can you hear me? I'm here to help you!"

Violet froze, her breath catching.

“My name is Jacqueline Scieszka. I know Count Olaf isn't here right now; I can get you out of here. I know where your siblings are, I can bring you back to them. You have to  hurry, I don't know when Olaf is coming back."

_He said don't open the door. If you open the door, you’ll be in trouble._

Before she knew it, though, Violet was standing in front of the door. Olaf had locked all three locks behind him. They weren't very complicated though, and she was sure she would have no problem opening them. She looked around for something small and flexible, a pin or wire, before suddenly halting.

How did this woman know she was here?

_Do I know any Scieszka’s?_

Concluding that she did not, Violet fidgeted with the ribbon her wrist. What if this was a test. How did this woman know her? Or Count Olaf?

Backing away quickly, Violet's face crumpled. For her, there was no such thing as good luck.

“Violet, are you there? Can you hear me? I can help you!" Called the voice from the other side. “You have too hurry! Just open up the door, I’ll explain everything on the way!"

She couldn't listen to anymore. Turning, Violet raced up the stairs, tears streaming down her face. How one person could be so cruel?

At the door, Jacqueline Scieszka looked down at her watch and swore. Olaf would surely be back any minute.

“Violet, I'll come back again when it's safer. Please remember there are still people looking out for you." With that, she straightened her jacket, looked both ways, and descended the steps to her car. It was only after she had driven away that a tall person with chin length hair crawled out from under a bush near the house. In their hand was a walky-talky.

“Someone um...came to the house looking for Violet?" They said into it slowly. Angry, garbled talk came through the little device, and the person shrugged. “Are any of us, really? Sorry. Yeah, she is still here....I don't know. I’ll keep watching, I guess."

  
  


When Olaf’s henchmen radioed him to say that annoying, self righteous, secretary was at _his_ house, trying to steal away _his_ wife, he was furious.

“Get in the car, we’re leaving,” He growled, already out the door.

“But Boss,”

“We just got here!” The two white-faced ladies argued.

“Yeah, Boss, can’t we stay a little bit longer?” Asked the man with hook hands, holding a bag of take out in each one.

Already behind the wheel, Olaf glowered at them. “You will get in this fucking car now,” He said, starting up the engine, “Or you will walk home.”

They all got in pretty quickly after that.

 

Pulling up in front of the house, Olaf didn’t even bother turning off the engine, instead hopping out and rushing up the steps, where he fumbled with the keys until he finally got inside. The house was silent.

“V-Violet?” He called, before angrily clearing his throat. “Orphan! Answer me!” She did, but his henchperson had told him that she hadn’t left, so he dashed upstairs to the only other place he could think she would be.

And that was where he found her, crying in her room. His annoyance at her tears was overshadowed by his relief that she was still there at all. "Why are you crying?" He asked her, leaning against the long side of the door frame.

Jerking up, she rubbed at her eyes hard. “I didn't know that you got back," She told him, sniffing. “I-I was cleaning up but I, um..."

“Yes?" Now that his panic had worn off, he felt a strong sense of triumph. It’s not that she could leave him, he would never let her, but she hadn’t even _tried_. It was exhilarating. All  he wanted now was to hear her say it. To hear her say, ‘Someone came to rescue me and I decided to stay with you.'

“Someone came to the door." She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“And?" _Tell me._

“And...that's it. They left. I..." She was breathless, and the words caught in her throat like something sticky. An emotion, a mix of shame, regret, and something else flickered across her face.

“You?" He prompted, watching her gleefully.

“I didn't answer the door. I didn't talk to them, even though they asked for me, I didn't open the door. I didn't do it." She finally choked out. A single tear tracked down one cheek and Olaf felt an uncomfortable pressure in his crotch.

“Good girl." Reaching forward and wiping her cheek, he could barely hold back from devouring her there.

At his touch, a heavy sob dropped from her mouth. A greedy gasp of air followed, and she bit down on her lip, shoulders shaking silently.

_Rule number 10, no crying._

Really, she was a good girl, wasn’t she.  “You know," He said, looking around the dingy attic. "This is no place for a countess. Especially when she is the wife of a world renowned actor."

Violet looked up at him with her big, puppy eyes and trembling lips. “Oh,” was all she could muster.

“‘ _Oh_ ’ indeed.” The agreeance was punctuated by his grip on her arm, and in a moment he had pulled her to his feet. Out the door and down, around into the main part of the house. They stopped in front of a grand set of double doors, which he threw open with great vigor. “You’ll stay here now.”

Violet looked upon the room with the same amount of hope as someone floundering in the water looked on at their own capsized ship. That is too say, not much.

It was a bedroom. Somehow, it was less messy than she had expected, but still clothing littered the ground, bottles of various liquors lay discarded across all available surfaces. There was little light; dark curtains covered both the windows. The canopied bed was also also curtained from view, with light, opaque cloth, and plush red carpet covered the floor. There was also a vanity with open canisters of makeup scattered across it, a fainting couch, and a night table with a framed document. She was honestly surprised there wasn’t a mirror on the ceiling or something just as gaudy. The whole room smelled like musk and perfume, and Violet absolutely did not want to enter it.

Olaf watched her expectantly, and Violet found she could not think of a single thing to say to him.

“So?”

“It’s...nice.” Her response fell flat, even to her own ears.

He didn’t seem to notice though. “I’m glad you think so. Since, you know, now you’ll be sleeping here too.”

Looking back over the room, she felt her heart sink. “On the couch?” She asked. He shook his head, and Violet drooped.

“Go in,” He offered. “The troupe got food. I will bring you some up.”

The thought of eating right now made Violet’s stomach roll. “I’m not hungry.”

He frowned.

“Thank, though,” she amended, which seemed to satisfy him enough.

 

Pulling off his jacket, he entered the room and tossed it onto the floor. A bottle of something honey colored beckoned to him from besides the bed, and who was he to deny himself? So he grabbed it and took a long sip, letting it burn pleasantly down into the pit of his stomach, simmering with something else, whatever it was the clawed itself into him when he looked at the pretty little girl standing in the doorway. She was so small, he lamented to himself, small enough that her hips could nestle neatly in between him, her whole self enveloped in his arms. And soon, she would be. How long could she expect him to wait?

“You can wear something of mine to sleep. I’ll get you clothes some other time.” _Or maybe not,_ he mused silently. _Maybe I’ll  trap you, here and bare. Maybe I’ll like you to wear my clothes and only them._ If nothing else, it conjured a pretty picture in his head, one that darted straight to his groin.

Stripping off his shirt, he didn’t notice that she was still standing  in the doorway, lost and a little bit horrified. When he finally did, though, he rolled his eyes. “God, do I have to dumb everything down for you, Orphan? Come here.” So she did, precious, obedient thing. Olaf grabbed a shirt from the floor, thought not the one he’d just discarded, and smelled it before passing it too her. “Put this on.”

He got to work, yanking off his shoes and socks. When he finally looked up, Violet was still standing there, holding out his shirt in front of her.

“I’d rather wear my own clothes, I think,” she finally said.

Disbelievingly, Olaf narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been wearing them since yesterday. They’re _dirty._ ”

She clenched her jaw, like she wanted to spit something in reply, but she didn’t, instead yanking the shirt over her head and shimmying out of her other clothes underneath.

Olaf was disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to see her change but watching her fuss with his shirt, which started near her collarbones and feel to just above her knees, was gratifying enough. Pulling of his pants and underwear, he sat down on the bed.

“Oh my goodness!” Violet’s face was red as a tomato, and she spun away from him, hands over her face. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Olaf stood back up again quietly and then wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up against him. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She actually _screamed_ , flailing away from him, and he inhaled deeply taking in the scent of her.

“Let go of me! Put some clothes on!” She demanded, clearly mortified.

“Never!” He crowed. “Why should I? I am going to sleep, and the only ones here are me and my wife.” Then, quieter, “And it’s not like I have anything to be ashamed about in that department. Don’t you know by now how great your husband is?”

 

“I—Go—Olaf, enough!” Pulling out of his arms, Violet turned to face him, stubbornly staring him in the eyes and _only_ the eyes. “You’re- acting childish. Put on some clothes, and then I will get into bed with you, where we go to sleep and nothing else.” If this had to happen—and it looked like it did— Violet was not going to let him walk all over her.

“And nothing else? What else did you think we’d be doing, dirty girl?” Olaf wanted to know.

Violet could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. “Put on some clothes!” Not looking at him again, she walked around to the far side of the bed, and sat down stiffly, doll-like.

There was a rustling behind her, and she closed her eyes, steeling herself over, as the mattress shifted. Then his hand snaked around her waist and he’d pulled her down, and flipped the blankets over the both of them.

“Better?” The whisper of his voice, the sour of this breath where so close to her face, and before Violet even thought of resisting, he’d pulled her hand down to his hip, to the waistband of his underwear, so she could feel that he was wearing some. They weren’t clothes, not like she’d asked, and her discomfort fractured out into something closer too humiliation. Perhaps it was his idea of a compromise, but she only felt cheated.

 

As she settled begrudgingly into his arms, Olaf was gratified. He’d been right, as always. She fit there perfectly and totally.

“Good night, wifey,” he simpered.

She squirmed, before finally falling still. “Good night.”

  
  


Slowly, this became routine. During the day, Violet would clean and explore the house. By the end of her first week, she’d finished two different inventions. One to wash the dishes and one to sweep the floor on the main level. It couldn’t get up stairs yet, but hopefully with a little more work, it would be able to. These inventions alone had cut down on the amount of work for her considerably, leaving her with  much more free time.

In the beginning, she used this free time to plan. _This is how I’ll escape, this is where we’ll go._ Count Olaf did have a atlas, and she poured over it again and again, devising and revising her plan.

And then one day, her chance arrived.

“I’m going out with my troupe. I won’t be back until late, tomorrow, even.” He told her, throwing a couple things into a small bag.

Violet nodded. “Alright.”

“Don’t do anything I would do.” He winked and then he left.

As soon as the car disappeared, Violet ran back up to her attic. She’d packed and unpacked more times than she could count, so all there was to do was throw the pack over her shoulders and head back down. He locked the front door, he always did, but he’d grown comfortable with her here. That had made him lazy. Heading back to the kitchen, Violet was thrilled to find the back door unlocked, just as she had expected.

Grabbing some food for her trip, Violet lingered to look back at the house.

“Sorry,” she muttered. Really, she was.  If Olaf really did care for her, this was going to hurt him. Hurting him wasn’t what she wanted, but acknowledging that she might have anything but hate for this man scared her.

_He’s evil man. He kidnapped you. He threatened you, and he tried to hurt Sunny and Klaus. You need to leave while you can._

So she did. Once in the backyard, it was only a matter of getting over the large cement wall encircling it. Tying back her hair, she considered her options before finally deciding that climbing, while the simplest option, would be the fastest.

There was wood piled up beside a old, rotted shed, and Violet got carefully on top. It didn’t boost her quite as much as she needed. She thought she would be able to grab the top of the wall and pull herself up, but the cast iron spikes lining it would make it difficult.

_Think. What can you use to get over the spikes?_

And then she was on her back, the breath knocked out of her. It was all so sudden, it a moment for her brain to catch up, to understand what had happened. One moment she was standing, knee high in ideas about spikes and walls, and the next someone had grabbed her by her ponytail and slammed her into the ground.

“That’s what you thought, was it? That you’d just get to leave here when you pleased? And what? Run back to that crazy woman by the lake?”A scoff. “ Get up.”

There is a very specific kind of shock that comes from seeing someone you in a place you did not expect them. At first you don’t recognize them, and then when you do, shock and bewilderment replace the curiosity. For Violet, there was also terror.

“Y-you—how—”

“We came back because _someone_ forgot to bring the costumes. Imagine my surprise when I see my very own wife outside. I said to myself, surely, _surely,_ she’s not trying to run away from me,” Looking at her, eyebrow raised, he tapped his foot against the ground impatiently. “Is she.”

Looking away from him, Violet kept quiet. What was there to say?

His expression turned to one of disgust. “I thought so. Get _up_.”

Slowly, Violet got to her knees, dread building in her stomach, only for him to backhand her across the face, knocking her back to the ground. Groaning, she looked at him through tearful eyes.

His lips twitched, finally splitting into an angry sneer. “I said: _Get up._ ”

She tried. And then she tried again.

“Did you think that you could leave me? Get up!”

“Did you think I would _let_ you? Get _up!_ ”

“Did you think you could hide somewhere that I wouldn’t find you? Get the fuck up!”

Every time she tried, only to be knocked back to the ground again. “Stop,” she managed finally, through the blood trickling from her mouth and nose. “I’m sorry. Please stop.” Her voice trembled. She felt so weak. He was going to kill her.

“I need to stop?  I give you ten rules, and I expect you to follow them! How difficult can it be? I told you if you broke them there would be consequences. You did this! Not me!” He turned, like he was leaving, but thought better of it. “You should be grateful I’m this generous. I’d like to see you try and run again if I’d broken both your legs instead,” he spat “Think on it.”

 

After that, Violet spent her mornings in her attic room, inventing things. Olaf never brought up her attempt to leave and neither did she.

She did not try to escape again.

In the afternoon Count Olaf would come home with his troupe, and they would show her new scenes and songs, to which she would smile or clap at all the right times. Then they would tell her to bring them drinks or get some themselves, and she would scurry off, and hole up in the attic room which had become something of an inventing studio for her, piled high with all the junk she could get her hands on.

Then the sun went down and she’d creep down to the kitchen to make dinner. There was an old cook book in Olaf’s “library” which had enough recipes to last her for a while. She’d made a shopping list, which he  had surprisingly complied with, so she had good enough ingredients to work with, and even when she didn’t, she made do.

When dinner was done, she’d bring it out to the dining room and  leave it for them, hopefully getting away before anyone grabbed at her. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. If it was Olaf giving her trouble, she’d grimace, but she’d bare it because it was just easier that way, and if it was someone else she bare it too, because Olaf was a jealous man and she did not want to incur his wrath again.

 

“Fucking whore! Why was he touching you? Why did you let him fucking touch you?”

Fingers dug into her arms, and the thick smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke made her cough. “I’m not!  I wasn’t!” But she had, hadn’t she? She was almost as scared of them as she was of him. And, oh, was she scared of him. Especially when he acted like this.

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!” He snapped, grabbing a fistful of  her loose blouse and yanking her away.

She cried out, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“We’re going to bed. Don’t wait up.”

 

When she stayed on his good side, though, all was well. So if he made her sit on his lap, or dance with him, or embrace her in some other way, she would do so without complaint. If not, then she Violet would tip-toe back upstairs to his bedroom, wash up, and change before he came to join her. She’d hide under the covers, make herself as small as possible, and pretend that she was asleep. And every night, without fail, Olaf would come in, strip off his clothes, and pull her up tight against him.

It was surprising to her that he didn’t ever try do more that. Violet wasn’t a fool; she knew what husbands and wives did, and she knew what Olaf pretended they were, and she knew that he wanted that with her, and when she didn’t lie to herself, she knew that at least a little bit, she was curious too.

Really, he wasn’t as bad as she thought he would be. Even with all his teasing and his rules and his insults when she told him ‘no,’ he stopped. When she asked him for something, he’d try and get it for her.

“I’d like some of my own clothes,” She told him one morning, sitting up in bed and stretching, back arched like a cat’s.

He glared up at her, barely awake, and groaned. “I’d like if you didn’t wear any at all.”

But that afternoon he came home with a bag full of pretty dresses and blouses and skirts. “Here. They’ll suit you,” He said, and she scurried up to her little attic to try them on.

They all fit her. There were three dresses, two shirts, and two shirts. He’d also included two sets of lingerie, which fit her just as well as everything else, and she wondered briefly how he knew her size so well. It didn’t matter though. Violet was happy that she could  now wear something other than her old night gown or his shirts. She wouldn’t complain.

Another time, she’d confessed to him that she had always been curious why he liked to drink so much, and wordlessly, he’d held out his glass for her to try. She hadn’t even said that’s what she wanted but he’d known it anyways.

“You’re more like me then you think you are, Violet,” He said to her one night when they were alone. He only ever used her name if he was drunk. “You think you’re good and clever, but you’re not.”

An argument sprouted in her mind, but he took a deep breath and added, “You’re not. You’re cunning and clever. There is a difference.”

And really, she wasn’t sure how to argue with that.

  


“Orphan!”

Yawning, Violet blinked slowly, adjusting to wakefulness.

Olaf stood over her, his face a mask of barely contained rage. Suddenly, she felt very much awake.

“What’s wrong?” Rubbing the blanket between her fingers, Violet wracked her brain for clues of what might have him so upset. The house was clean, she’d done the dishes, no one in his troupe had groped her last night. So what could it be?

“Get up.”

Those words made her flinch.

“I told you that you were never to use the phone, or write letters, or whatever the hell it is you’ve done,” He hissed.

Taken aback, Violet didn’t dare stand up. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she told him.

His face twisted up like he’d eaten something bad. “How dare you lie to me, Girl? How stupid do you think that I am?” His voice was rising in volume, and his chest rose and fell erratically. In all her time here, she’d only ever seen him this upset once before.

“I don’t. I don’t think you are stupid at all!” What had he said about the phone?

“You ungrateful girl! How dare you disobey me? Because I buy you dresses and I let you do what you want all day? You take shit up to your stupid little room and make stupid little toys all day and I tolerate it because you follow my rules, and now you think it is okay to pull some fucking stunt like this?” Grabbing her shoulder, he yanked he roughly out of bed. “Seeing as you seem to have forgotten again, I am going to show you just how cruel I can be.”

“Olaf, please—”

“Shut up!” He roared, turning swiftly and from the room. She tripped along behind him, scared and confused, trying to figure out what was going on.

It didn’t take long.

As soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, someone began to bang vigorously on the front door.

“We know Violet is there! Give us back our sister!”

Shocked splashed over Violet, like someone had dumped ice water over her head. It was easy to pretend her life was fine when there was nothing else there for her. Olaf’s strange affection for her made it bearable. Doing what he wanted, smiling and sleeping and wearing his shirts made it bearable.  Even knowing that by being here, her siblings didn’t have to be made it bearable.

But all of a sudden everything was unraveling. Her siblings were here and Olaf was looking at her like he didn’t know her at all and she wasn’t sure how any amount of playing nice was going to fix it.

“I didn’t do this!” She tried to cry, but Count Olaf grabbed her face in his hand, squishing her cheeks and silencing her quite effectively.

“Remember what I told you would happen if you brought them here?” Then she noticed he was holding a long knife in the hand that wasn’t holding her and panic flooded her body.

He let go of her face rounding on the door.

“I didn’t call them here, I swear, I didn’t contact them at all, I don’t know why they came but I swear, please don’t hurt them!” She was hysterical, clutching at him desperately.

Tightening his grip on the knife, he shook her off. “Hm. Funny how I don’t believe you.”

Despairingly, she fell to her knees.  She had to stop this. “Please, Olaf, I’ll tell them to leave! I’ll make them go away, don’t hurt them, I’m begging you, please don’t hurt them. They’re only doing what they think is right.”

This he did consider. Perhaps. The grandfather clock up against the wall behind them tick-tick-ticked. In his hand, the knife spun between his fingers.

 _Please, please, please._ Violet had never been this single minded  before in her life.

“Fine.”

Like a drowning woman given air, Violet suddenly was aware of her lightheadedness. “Thank you,” she wept.

Outside, Klaus banged on the door again. “I’ve called the police! Give us Violet back!” He demanded.

Olaf looked at weeping girl unsympathetically. “You are going to open the door and you are going to tell them exactly what I tell you to, and you are going to do it with a smile or I am going to kill them both.”

The look in his eyes was like one she’d seen on a wolf at the zoo once, right before it tore apart  a rabbit that had mistakenly hopped into its enclosure. There was no mercy in it. She knew he would do what he promised.

Quickly rubbing the tears off of her eyes, she took three greedy breaths, before standing up and following him to the door. He unlocked the locks and for the first time in a month a half, the Baudelaire siblings were reunited.

“Violet!” Klaus shouted, rushing forward with Sunny in his arms.

Violet stepped back instinctually, hands up. “Don’t!”

He stopped, and both the children looked at her with confusion.

“What is wrong?” Sunny babbled.

Violet glanced over at Olaf, who was hidden behind the door. He mimed a smile, and mouthed, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” She repeated, giving them a wobbly smile.

“I know! We have to go quickly before Count Olaf shows up!” Klaus said, reach forward to grab her arm.

Violet recoiled.

The middle Baudelaire sibling stared at her, hurt and confusion settling on his face. “Violet?”

“I am not leaving.” Her voice was stiff as her smile.

Maybe if Klaus hadn’t been so worried, so tired, he would have been able to deduce what was going on, but the past month had been hectic and life changing, and he was exhausted so he didn’t.

“What are you talking about? You can escape! I know somewhere we can go, Olaf won’t find us.” He argued.

“I’m not leaving. I am very happy to be the wife of someone as great and famous as Count Olaf.” The muscles in her face began to ache. She glanced back at Olaf again. “If I wanted to leave I would have escaped by now. I have—” Swallowing, she tried again. “I have no interest in going back anywhere with you.”

Klaus took a step back, and the look on his face broke her heart. Sunny babbled something to him. She didn’t understand. “Violet, this isn’t you. He’d not here, you can come with us, I met people, they’ll protect you!”

“No, I am going to stay here. Count Olaf is very handsome and I am very lucky that he chose me too be my wife. You...um…” She let out a sigh like her lungs had collapsed. “You aren’t welcome here. I...don’t need you.” Each word felt like someone ripping out her heart. The look on Klaus’ face almost made her take it all back, but she could see the glint of Olaf’s knife from where she stood, so there the words stayed, suspended in her mind.

“F-fine,” Klaus spat. It was obvious that he was trying not to cry. “We’ll just. Leave. If that’s what you really want.” But he didn’t turn away yet, and Olaf began to mouth something else.

“Good. It is. I am perfectly happy to stay here without you forever, because I….” She trailed off, the rest of what had barely begun as a smile sliding off her face.

Olaf rolled his eyes, and mimed the words for her again.

“I—” She couldn’t say it. “Don’t come back.” And then she slammed the door closed in her sibling’s faces.

Sunny began to wail, maybe Klaus too. But while her siblings were able to comfort each other as they left, all Violet could do was stand pitifully before the man who called himself her husband and sob quietly with her hands over her face.

 

Olaf had never felt so many emotions at once. He wanted to comfort her, he wanted to kill her, he wanted to fuck her, he wanted to lock her up where no one would find her ever again. As he gave her her script, one hand still gasped tightly around his knife, arousal stiffened between his legs unbearably.

Every night was torture, lying beside her  like they were brother and sister, relieving himself when he could, vying for her favor. And why? So she’d give it to him?

He’d been generous. He’d been patient. And when those filthy siblings of hers had shown up at his door he’d felt utterly betrayed. He’d learned a long time ago that kindness got you nothing, but he thought for once, maybe, it would be different.

But now, while he watched her smile and tell her those other stupid orphans how much she wanted to them to leave, he realized his mistake. Kindness was no good, not here. She was young. She didn’t know what she wanted.

‘I am going to stay here with him forever because I have fallen desperately and lustily in love him,’ he mouthed to her.

She looked stricken.

Rolling his eyes, he tried again.   _“I have fallen in love with him_.” Not quite as dramatic, but it  would suffice.

“I—Don’t come back.”

Annoyance curdled within him. She didn’t say it. He thought out marching past her, outside, down the steps, and up to those other little brats. He thought of slicing them open, top to bottom while she watched, but as tantalizing as the idea was, the strain in his pants was more so.  In fact, his arousal at the way she’d gotten down on her knees and begged him for mercy was the only reason he hadn’t just went out and slaughtered them in the first place.

The door slammed and then it was just the two of them again, her standing, weeping, pitiful in front of him. Good God, she was magnificent.

“Good girl,” He purred, and before she could answer, he’d pushed her up against the door, his knee pressed up in between her legs, his mouth covering hers.

She squirmed deliciously, her tears falling down to wet his shirt. Only when her struggle against him began to grow truly weak did he pull away, licking his lips while she gasped air.

“Why?” She whispered.

He ignored her. “Because you are my wife, and because you’ve been _so good_ , I’ll let you decide if you want to stay here or go upstairs.”

 

Violet didn’t know what to do. She was distraught. Her siblings probably hated her now and who knew if she’d ever seen them again, and now Olaf was rubbing himself against her, and God, he was still holding a knife, and the fact that he was letting her pick where this was going to happen made her want to disappear.

“No,” She whispered.  She didn’t want to do this.

Except… she didn’t _not_ want to do it either. Count Olaf might be cruel and crude but he could also be surprisingly kind and aside from  his lack of basic hygiene, he wasn’t all that ugly either. Violet wasn’t a child anymore, and now it seemed he was the only one she had.

“Yes,” He insisted, watching gleefully.

Shaking hands crept up, wrapping around his neck and she buried her face against his chest. Violet was sick of being scared, she was sick of being sad, and above all she was sick of being lonely. With a sinking sense of disbelief, she realized that he’d succeeded in what she could only assume he’d set out to do. He’d worn her down, down, down and now he had broken her.

“Upstairs,” She mumbled finally, and Olaf froze. Perhaps he had not considered that she would actually be a willing participant. His surprise didn’t last though, and in a moment he had scooped her up into his arms, his lips against her neck as he carried her up the stairs to their room.

“Will it hurt?” she whispered, though she doubted that she could hurt anymore than she already did.

“Not at all,” he lied, with a beautiful, wicked smile that almost made her believe him.

 


End file.
